


far beneath the winter snows

by fannishliss



Series: Dandelion Music, or, songs Jaskier might write [7]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Destiny, Found Family, Geraskier Week, Letters, M/M, Original Music, Original Song, Protection, Realization, Reconciliation, Song - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22777264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: Different forms of communication bring the Witcher and the Bard back together. Geralt and Jaskier write letters to each other, and also, Jaskier writes a song! (The original song, Beloved Wolf, occurs in ch. 7).
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Dandelion Music, or, songs Jaskier might write [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686742
Comments: 33
Kudos: 223





	1. Jaskier's letter

Witchers are creatures of the age of coin. 

As a youngling, the first rule Geralt was taught is that nothing comes for free.Even as young as he was when he first set foot in Kaer Morhen, he was set to daily chores: Carry wood, carry water.Polish armor.Sharpen weapons.Run things here and there.Pull weeds, pluck herbs.Wash vegetables. A few years older, he learned to mend clothing, butcher meat, split firewood.And of course, every day was spent in hours of training, filling his brain with Witcher lore, hardening his hands and feet and body to Witcher training.Then, the mutagens, one after another.Feeling his humanity seared away from the inside out.Watching his brothers break, some to death.Rising from the rack after the final trial, hair whitened, heartbeat slowed, magic flooding his breath, blood and bones. 

Geralt paid for what he’d been made.He paid in service to the path, in blood and pain.He paid in loyal adherenceto the code of the Wolf School.He paid, in service to humanity, the race that had born him, given him up, hired him, plead with him, scorned him to his face.In return, Geralt received longevity, heightened senses, great strength and endurance, and he was very hard to deceive, ensorcel or kill.Geralt did not think much about the deal, whether or not it was fair.There was no such thing as fair, in Geralt’s honest opinion.Monsters did not ask to be made, and yet he killed them.Humans did not ask to be surrounded by monsters, and yet they were.Geralt had certainly not asked to be given to the Witchers, and yet he had been. He had actively taken part in his own making, preparing the mutagens with his own hands, as went Witcher wisdom, learning the cantrips as well as he could, trusting his teachers to sustain them when he was out of his mind with the transmutation. Geralt considered the deal, from time to time, and did not know how he could have made a better bargain. He hated the word “destiny”but, there it was. 

Coin is the law for Witchers.They subscribe to no religion, no higher code of ethics or morality.Witchers kill for coin.That is the way of things.Witchers pass no judgement on monsters, but are justified in demanding to be paid.Their lives are worth no less, and that is their only standard. 

Poetry means nothing to a Witcher.Poetry is just fancy lies.Stories about monsters, making their deaths seem tragic.Stories about Witchers, making their hunts seem glorious.There is no tragedy, no glory.There is only the lore, the blade, the battle.If the Witcher emerges victorious, one less monster lives to plague humanity. That is the only law Geralt lives by. 

Till the bard.The fucking bard. 

Geralt has not ever, and will never, ask anyone to “toss a coin.” He is not “a friend to humanity.”He is for hire, to kill monsters.He is no one’s “friend.”Friendship never saved a witcher from a monster; just as it never saved a youngling from the trials.The only thing a Witcher can rely on is his own strength, his own determination.Witchers do not play bodyguard.They take no part in human politics. They do not retire or take holidays by the ocean. 

They do not bargain their own lives away in wishes with djinn. 

They do not fall in love with sorceresses, no matter how smart, how strong, how comely. 

They certainly do not welcome the attentions of bards, stupid little humans, so easily breakable.One punch doubles them over.One rageful outburst drives them away, after years of so-called “friendship.” And one moment of weakness, involving the customary Witcher’s pay, the Law of Surprise, binds one life to another.Geralt disdains “destiny,” refuses to dread it, but cannot outrun it. 

Then he gets a letter, addressed “to the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, Witcher.” 

Ciri isn’t impressed.Calanthe received dozens of letters, constantly. The Lioness of Cintra had two secretaries, one for commoner’s entreaties, and one for noble affairs. 

Geralt has never gotten a letter before. Letters belong to the ways of humans.Witchers have no fixed abode.They return by custom to the school of their making, but not every winter.A letter sent to a Witcher will not find him, unless a mage sends it tracking his aura.It is only happenstance that he and Ciri are still ensconced at Kaer Morhen, haven’t yet set out on the muddy spring roads, that Ciri is still learning swordplay from Eskel, hand combat from Lambert, and various lore from Vesemir, who declares her a more than apt pupil. 

Geralt scents the letter:a hint of lilac, more of sandalwood.The letter is sealed with a nobleman’s seal, one Geralt does not recognize.He breaks the seal and feels the prickle of magic that helped the letter find him. 

“My ever dearest Geralt, I hope this letter finds you as well as can be expected, not in small pieces, but warm, clean and relatively whole.I am writing from the comforts of the University at Oxenfurt, where I am presently lecturing.I am engaged, though not strictly contracted, to remain as long as I desire, contributing to the study of the liberal arts and belles lettres, viz., music and poetry, in which, I trust I do not flatter myself to declare, I have achieved some renown. Students seem to enjoy my classes, as they cluster about the lecture hall in numbers too great to admit, and so the dean of letters has arranged a fairly generous stipend to continue as long as I lecture at least twice a month, and make arrangements to look over the work of at least a few of those who deem me a proper master. 

Dearest Geralt, the manner of our parting has not ceased to pain me.I do not know if it pains you at all, though I do testify they lie who say that Witchers do not feel.You feel so deeply, so intensely, it breaks my heart to look upon how manfully you crush your feelings in your giant fists and shove them down with all your mighty strength.Please do not believe for even a moment, that your parting words, though they cut me deep, could ever sever the bonds of friendship that tie my heart to you. Any act of devotion you care to name, I would gladly perform in your honor.I love you, Geralt, make of that what you will. My presence by your side seemed to hurt you more than my staying would allay that pain — and that is the only reason I would ever stray from your side for long. 

I winter, as I say, in Oxenfurt… and until I hear from you again, my heart remains, as it were, buried deep under snows as white as your locks when they gleam in sunlight, fresh and clean as when, lovingly, I have tended them.I await your word, dearest Witcher, to fly to your side, or, should you need what succor a scholar might afford, please consider my rooms as your own, and my door forever open. 

I remain, as always, your friend and devoted servant, 

Julian de Lettenhove, Prof. (Visc.) 

_ Jaskier _

Yennefer instructs me to write: she bears you no ill, and wishes you well."

“Is it bad news then?”Ciri asks softly. 

“Hm,” Geralt says.He’s forgotten to breathe.He sighs deeply.He wipes away a tear that has traced its unfamiliar path down his pale, unlined, inhuman cheek. 

“No, love.It’s good news.Very good news.Fetch me paper and pen?” 

The girl runs, with as much alacrity as any young Witcher in training.The Old ways are gone.The new world changes, spinning, whirling, and like the wild magic in the young girl’s breast, the whirlwind rearranges the customs of humans and Witchers alike. 

Witchers want nothing. Need no one.The last thing they want is someone to need them. 

Yet here he is, in the stronghold of the Wolf — with a letter offering the faith and fealty of the strongest man (blessed by the strongest mage) he knows.His brothers, his oldest companions, arrayed around him, ushering his daughter onto the Path — a new Path, one others may yet follow, when the way of the Wolf was thought all but dead. 

The world turns around the sun, moves slowly into spring. 

Ciri returns with paper and pen, a mischievous grin hiding in the corners of her mouth. 

“Do you need help spelling? I know you learned a hundred years ago,” she teases. 

“My friend will know what I mean,” Geralt answers. 

And it is the truth. He will. 

Geralt lifts the pen and begins to write. 

“My derest Jaskier, I too sorrow after our partynge. I thank ye for yr noble heart, and offre ye my repentaunce and my troth: I wold not spend another winter apart from ye.…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sei_shonanon made beautiful interpretation of Jaskier's letter to Geralt!  
> [Take a look!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25805101/chapters/62681050)


	2. Geralt's letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt writes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanon suggests that Geralt has old fashioned or out dated orthography. As I happens, I am a big fan of that kind of thing! (Look up Shakespeare in original pronunciation for a fun time)
> 
> It's fun to write out Geralt's old-fashioned speech patterns. Even though he doesn't really talk like this out loud, it makes me wonder if possibly he thinks like this in his head. :)

My derest Jaskier, I too sorrow after our partynge. I thank ye for yr noble heart, and offre ye my repentaunce and my troth: I wd not spend another winter apart from ye. Sprynge a-cumin opens the pass, which has longe been bounden by snow. Yr lettre was carried here by a peddler who trades linens to us of old, as Witchers do not grow flax, though we have ben known to gather wool. 

Jaskier, I beg and cry ye mercy.Myne eyes have been opened to the cruelty I longe have dealt ye. I have no excuse.But perhaps I may at least explain. 

Ye know I have seen a hundred turns of the seasons. A human man so old wd mayhap grow wise. But as for myself, I know I have ben but a fool.When I first laid eyes on ye, I was full wery, sore of herte, wroth at the life I’d lead, the Path I’d trod to garner naught but ill-given coin and a name befouled. 

Ye cannot, I wager, imagyne, the shock I felt when ye, so yonge, so lively, in the full beauty of yr youth, turned to me like a bright flower of sunlight, shone upon me with yr pert, saucy looks and clever tonge.My herte as ye full know is cold as stone, slowed by mutation, yet it throbbed to life at the heat in yr gaze.It hurt, Jaskier, with payne full sore, as ye broght me unwillynge back to lyfe. 

Ye threw my lyfe in my face, Jaskier, into my very face.A Witcher knows, full well, the hardships of the Path: death is bestrewn on every turn before him.Ye made me want to live. Ye ran me through with discontent at the scorn of humans, showynge me nothing but courtesye. I am a tool for the killynge of monsters; that is the way of things.And yet, ye spoke to me, from that very first hour, as a man who might have a herte to feel, a mynde to reason, opinions, taste, preferaunces — the thousand little embroydries humans wend through their lives. 

More fool I, I scorned ye for yr kyndnesse. Confused, ashamed, I taunted ye when I should have wept upon yr knees. Yr songs were like bright fire in coldest darknesse, yet I turned from ye and sought the chill. 

As Witchers reckon time, the years have flown fast since first we met; with heavy regret derest Jaskier, I count the years over in human terms and weep for the chaunces I’ve wasted. Tho time spent with ye has never ben lost, no, not tho I speke to ye false and most cruel. 

What can I do, Jaskier, to soothe these hurts I have long bestowed on ye? I wd make amends. Teach, dere Professor, for I wd learn.I am sick to my herte of my foolishnesse, and wd improve if ye will graunt but one last reprieve. 

What has wrought this change in herte so deep?So many things, derest Jaskier : sleepless nights… yr songs echoyng in empty rooms… reproach in the eyes of my faithful steed… hateful silence where yr chatter once flew on light lark’s wings….payne like daggers in my herte and bowels when I think of my churlish speche and ill treatment of ye, how I returned scorn for purest freyndship… how I tore the smile from yr face, and cast it into dust; blotted out yr sunlight with the gray white clouds of winter. 

I have a dottir, Jaskier.I wd have you mete hir, my childe of surprise.Ye recall from whence she came.Her hair is white as mine and her howl more wilde.Ye will love her, as noble blood calls like to like.I write, dere freynd, in hopes I am not too late.In hopes I have not spent half yr human years in vain.In hopes our love may repair and again grow stronge.In hopes ye will see an apt pupil for yr genius in my dottir, and in me, a churlish swain prostrate to begge yr forgiveness. 

Ye are too kynde, too kynde by far.How have ye known me so longe and have not ben transmuted to ice with offense at the ill treatment I have meted out to ye? Ye're a wonder, Jaskier… last tyme I saw ye, ye turned from me in sorrow, beautiful as the day we first met, when first I threw up a wall round my cold, stone herte, to keep ye out and my passion in, the passion that roared into flame the moment ye spoke that very first time.Ye were not afraid, but ye looked in my eyes and smiled and sang and danced and truly I could not resist ye, though I tried, and tho I lied to ye, year after year. 

I tell ye my troth now.I love ye, Jaskier.I wd not spend another winter apart from ye, nay, not another season, not a month, nor weke, nor day.Wait for me in Oxenfurt, as I fly to ye.Let us mete, my derest Jaskier, so that this letter may overflow with my devotion direct from my herte into yrs. 

I send this with a sign of haste, that it might travel by day and by night, till it reaches you, with myself and my dottir fast on its heels. 

with all my love, my repentaunce, and my troth, 

Yr own “whyte Wolfe”

_** Geralt  ** _

Kaer Morhen, Kaedwen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you think! 
> 
> toss a coin to your epistolary writer!


	3. letter by carrier Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt befriends a Raven.

The ravens of Kaer Morhen were not legendary.They were ordinary ravens, opportunistic birds who hung about the Witcher stronghold hoping for the entrails and vegetable parings that Witchers who weren’t starving could afford to throw out.In the decades since the sacking, the mob of ravens that had previously haunted the high towers, nooks and crannies of the keep had dwindled down to a few. 

Geralt sometimes went to one of the high towers to meditate. Geralt’s favorite place had become the southwest tower, which caught the last rays of the weak winter sun as it set behind the mountain.There, in the wind and the biting cold of winter, he would focus on deep, cleansing breaths, taking time during these moments of peace to allow his inner magic to rid his body of toxins. In the deepest level of meditation Geralt could feel the slow, quiet crawl of the magic through his veins, moving throughout his muscles, organs, bones, and skin, locating damage, helping his body to fix it; identifying toxins, helping his body exude them in sweat and exhalations. The low, even glow of the magic was easiest to feel in the bitter cold, keeping his skin just warm enough to avoid frost bite, moving in the blood that his slow-beating heart pushed in a trickle through his veins.Sometimes Geralt felt like a creature more dead than alive, and he knew that’s what the humans hated most about Witchers.But in meditation, especially in the bitter cold, he could feel his magic flow, like the current that barely stirs a high mountain lake — still, serene, and clear. 

A young female raven shared the southwest tower with Geralt.She had not yet brooded her first clutch, but had claimed a sheltered nook of the tower as her own. Geralt found himself bringing her treats through the winter.The other ravens went through the Witchers’ garbage, scarce as it was. The Wolves of Kaer Morhen laid in supplies when the pass was open, stocked the place well with food and game, and Vesemir kept a rather bountiful garden during the warmer months while his Witchers roamed the Continent. Geralt brought treats to the young raven, bits of bread or fruit or meat or cheese.Just a few minuscule bites for a Witcher made feasts for a young wild bird.The raven learned to eat from Geralt’s hand. 

Geralt wasn’t a mage, but he remembered that his mother had been a magic user. Perhaps this was why Geralt could feel his own magic a little more easily than most Witchers.Perhaps it had even helped him survive the trials.Witchers were taught to rely on instinct, to enhance their combat-ready bodies with potions and augment their strength with cantrips.Geralt’s strength and instincts flowed with low-level magic all the time, almost imperceptible.His magic had enhanced his bond with Roach, making their communication flow both ways.It sharpened his intuition, warning him of danger alongside his charmed medallion. 

So Geralt had gone along with his instinct to befriend the raven. Over the winter he’d fed her tidbits till she hopped to his fist when he appeared.He’d spoken softly and brushed the bird’s mind ever so lightly with his magic, just enough to promise he meant her no ill, intended no trap.The bird’s intelligent mind was enticing; her memories of flight made Geralt think of communing with her and leaving behind his own earthbound existence. 

But he didn’t really want that.He had Ciri now, he had his duty to the Path, his oath to the Wolf School and his brother Witchers.He had whatever it was that bound him to Yennefer, and the thing he’d refused to acknowledge for so long with the bard. 

The letter he’d received from Jaskier when the pass opened shook him to the core.The flood of relief, the unfamiliar joy, had moved him to tears.Now, he could hardly hold himself back from galloping Roach non-stop toward Oxenfurt. 

But that was no plan. 

So here he was, on the southwest tower, with Ciri.Ciri had studied meditation, a vital skill for someone with so much incredible raw power, but she hadn’t spent much time up on the tower’s bitter cold.She divided her time between Geralt and the other Witchers, soaking in wisdom from Vesemir, Eskel, and Lambert, the unique life stories and gifts each one had to offer. 

“Our rooks in Cintra would bite,” Ciri said, regarding the raven with respect. 

“She’s a raven, not a rook,” Geralt said, as the young raven preened her bill gently against his thumb. 

Ciri held out her hand, offering the raven some boiled bones from last night’s stew. Geralt could feel the raven’s enthusiasm, even as she seemed to carelessly pick and choose from the bones in Ciri’s open hand. 

“Kwa,” the raven said, selecting a bone and fluttering to one of her favorite perches on the battlement. 

“Can you see what she is thinking?” Ciri asked Geralt. 

“Can you?” Geralt asked. 

“She likes the bone,”Ciri said. 

“How do you know?” Geralt asked. 

“She’s happy.She likes it.Her feathers are smooth.Her eye is bright.”

Geralt watched this miraculous child who’d become his daughter. Truly destiny had given him a gift he had never earned. 

“So, can you see what she is thinking?” Ciri asked again.

“A bit,” Geralt said.“We’ve built a rapport.Using _Axii_ , you can see inside someone’s mind, plant suggestions, control them. If you are careful, very gentle, trusted,you can see without _Axii_ , along those same lines.”

“Is that how you talk to Roach then!” Ciri laughed, rocking up on her toes. 

“Roach is very good at listening,” Geralt said.But it was true, their rapport had grown deep over the years. 

“She doesn’t listen to me,” Ciri said. 

“She’s my horse!” Geralt said mildly. 

“So will you use _Axii_ to make the raven carry the letter?” Ciri asked. Vesemir had been astonished that Ciri could already perform some of the cantrips at their most basic level. Humans were known, if rarely, to be capable of learning the simpler hand spells, but the speed of Ciri’s achievement was shocking. 

“No,” Geralt said slowly, with a tiny smile.“I’m just going to ask her.” 

“Show me,” Ciri breathed. 

Geralt offered the raven his fist again.The bird lay aside her bone and hopped up.Geralt opened his mind — not the aggressive push of _Axii_ , but a different way he’d learned over the years, and in truth he credited most of that learning to Roach (the second Roach), who had taught him how little he needed _Axii_ with a great-hearted steed such as herself.His current Roach (the sixth) like all of them, was selected for her character and temperament and her ability to listen to Geralt, and like every Roach, she was a marvelous animal, worth a dozen of her rider. 

The raven looked at the letter Geralt produced.He’d written it small, scrolled it up, and wrapped it in a little bit of parchment to keep it dry.He’d penned Jaskier’s name, and Oxenfurt, on the outside, just in case of mishap. 

He showed the letter to the raven, and pictured Jaskier in his mind: his wide blue eyes, broad smile, his loud and melodious voice, the beloved lute that was never far from his hand. 

The raven liked Geralt’s memory of the bard singing and rang a few of the tones in her throat.

Geralt laughed, and envisioned as clearly as he could the terrain between Kaer Morhen and Oxenfurt.The raven could make the flight much faster than humans could ride, of course; and it sounded like fun, but she was unsure she could fly with extra weight on her leg.

Geralt offered her the letter to test its weight.It was lighter than it looked.Less than a thick twig.Not a problem.

Geralt offered to tie the little bundle to her leg. She didn’t like the thought of something tied onto her until Geralt showed her how to untie it.Then she understood how it would be easier not to have to grasp it with her claw.Yes. 

“She’s ready to go,” Geralt said.“Wish her luck.” 

Ciri’s wild magic sometimes responded to things like wishes. She closed her eyes, breathed out, and wished the bird luck. 

The raven spread her wings, shook them out, and hopped off the battlement.In a heartbeat she was soaring, and within moments had winged her way out of sight. 

***

Jaskier was enjoying a hunk of bread and cheese for lunch on a sunny bench off the main Quadrangle, when a smallish raven suddenly dropped and perched behind him. It had something tied to its leg with a black ribbon. 

Heart pounding, Jaskier slowly reached for the ribbon, mindful of the raven’s large beak.Its bright eye regarded him cooly. 

He pulled at the ribbon and the bundle fell easily into his other hand. On the bundle was written, _Jaskier, Oxenfurt_.Jaskier opened the bundle, unfurled the tightly wound scroll, and clutched his hand to his mouth as he read, with choked little noises, unnoticed tears, and a slowly bright-blooming but watery smile. 

The raven hopped to the bard’s forgotten lunch and partook in its payment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quoth the raven : toss a coin!


	4. Yennefer notices a song about herself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer goes into hiding while she regroups, but Jaskier's latest song catches her attention.

Yennefer’s triumph at Sodden was witnessed by none but Tissaia; no other in the path of her firestorm survived, and Yennefer vanished through a portal created by her own wild chaos even as she lost consciousness. 

She woke up a good day later, wet with morning dew in the middle of some pleasant enough cow pasture — not far from her hometown, if she could judge by the startlingly still-familiar odor permeating the air,of silage and cow manure.To the tinkle of cowbells, soft lowing, and loud competing songs of territorial songbirds, Yennefer stood up, straightened what was left of her gown, and left the field to follow a muddy wagon track in the general direction of north and west. 

She didn’t want to portal again, having burned through so much chaos in the battle. She had just enough magic to manage a blurred disguise as she walked to the nearest village, where she set up shop for a few days out of the back of a tavern — meager fortune telling and little charms that took almost nothing out of her. 

Once her power had replenished a bit, she walked on, through towns and into markets, wearing little glamours that caused people to not really see her. There she dissected the gossip, word of Nilfgaard’s retreat to Cintra for the winter. Speculation as to the whereabouts of the Cintran princess, Cirilla.Speculation as to how many mages survived the Battle (most of the commoners bleakly wagered none, and there was no reason to refute that rumor until they had time to recover and regroup). 

She managed that way, moving from town to town, growing in strength, building her reserves as fall passed and winter slowly came on.By the time of the first dustings of snow, she had reached Novigrad, where she planned to submerge her magical signature amid the throngs of humans and low-level magic users that flocked to the Free City. 

Yennefer preferred to orchestrate elaborate revelries instead of wasting time in crowded, smelly human taverns, drinking watered down ale, poking at stew that was decidedly not the feast fit for queens to which she was accustomed. But going back to her usual haunts, calling upon her known reserves would be a stupid mistake,and Yennefer had no doubt that Fringilla would strike like a falcon were she to make any mistake whatsoever, whether clever or dull. She needed to rebuild her magic, stockpile some coin, build a base from which to operate.  Yennefer was not a maker of stupid mistakes.At least not usually.Her mistakes, when she made them, were calculated risks, played on a grand scale. Risks like trying to outplay a legendary Witcher for use of a djinn’s harsh magic. Risks like going after the curative power to be ferreted out of a dragon’s corpse. Risks like defying Destiny, not once, but time after time, pitting her own will against nature’s most inevitable flow. 

Some mistakes were worth the risk. 

Better to die free than live a slave — it was a revolutionary’s slogan, but one Yennefer kept close to her heart.And yet, truly, she had no intention of dying. Not anymore, not for a long time. 

The djinn’s cursed gift affected her, there was no denying it.She’d gone after the wish, hoping to get what she wanted— and instead, she’d ended up losing even more. 

But what had she gained? 

Tissaia’s sharp voice refused to be quiet inside her own skull.There was always a balance — a price paid, a wonder worked. Yennefer felt the price, truly, nearly every day (at least it was not every hour).She thought of the Witcher, not constantly, but consistently. His exploits repeatedly asserted themselves into her awareness, as much as she tried to shut her ears to them. 

The bard, of course, had made it his life’s work (part of his life’s work, at least) to chronicle the acts of his “White Wolf.”Over the past two decades, he’d had quite an effect on the humans, changing their hearts and minds about Witchers. 

The bard Jaskier could not be everywhere at once.In fact, when he was not traveling with Geralt, it was almost as though he didn’t exist.Perhaps a dual identity?

At any rate, with bards, it was their music that did most of the traveling, even when one was as adventurous as Geralt’s little follower.Even now, at this very tavern, a musician (not the bard himself in question) was singing Jaskier’s latest piece, probably a little down tempo, and somewhat simplified for kitarr instead of the bardic lute.The woman’s low, emotive performance was not intended to whip up the crowd, but it was a pleasant enough backdrop for lunchtime in a tavern. 

The chorus quite pleased her.It made her sound powerful and seductive and dangerous.She had worked hard, sacrificed much, to become all those things. 

As the singer repeated the final verse, Yennefer took note of the lyrics: 

_I’m weak my love, and I am wanting—If this is the path I must trudge_

_I welcome my sentence, Give to you my penance, Garrotter, jury and judge_

The song revealed a little more about the bard than perhaps he had intended.Clearly the song was intended for Geralt’s ears.Yennefer wondered if the stony faced Witcher ever blushed when he heard it — for it had spread like wildfire across the continent, so Geralt couldn't have helped but hear it at least one time.Did it burn to hear himself described as “garrotter, jury and judge”? or did it please him, to know that his bard still yearned for him, even though he had tied his fate to another? 

The song was really quite beautiful, a human product, resplendent with the awe humans felt when faced with forces like chaos, Destiny, the thing they called love.Did Jaskier truly love the Witcher? Yennefer knew the bard had followed the Witcher for his entire adult human lifetime.That was something; that was decisive,dedication to a choice.Jaskier portrayed his own choice as a sentence, as penance — to Geralt? For being a human with the audacity to choose to love a Witcher? the audacity — Yennefer scoffed to herself — of a human who dared to regard himself as part of some triangle not only with a Witcher who professed to want nothing to do with him, but who was tied up in Destiny’s threads with a mage of Yennefer’s caliber? 

Yes, Yennefer would seek out this bard— a mere human who dared accuse Yennefer of destruction — who dared to love a Witcher —who dared to make himself part of the destiny of beings he could not hope to truly understand. 

He loved Geralt anyway, despite everything.

That’s why Yennefer needed to talk to him, and why, despite her dislike for taverns, she found herself in Oxenfurt, tricked out in yet another disguise. 

The bard wasn’t playing, he wasn’t whoring or even drinking. He was just eating,  by himself, surveying the crowd. He hadn’t noticed Yennefer, nor should he, as she was enveloped by a glamour that disinclined even a professional raconteur such as himself to notice her. 

She found herself ordering what he had ordered.It was a simple meal, some meat, some gravy, some kind of mashed up root vegetable — but it was good.She found herself enjoying it.He had paired it with a full-bodied red wine, and that was good too. 

The barmaid appeared with another glass of wine. “The gentleman sends his compliments,” the barmaid said, with sufficient courtesy. 

Yennefer looked up, surprised, to find that Jaskier had met her eye. He lifted his glass to her, then took no more notice. 

He wasn’t quite finished with his plate, but he’d taken a folded-up paper from his pocket.He read and re-read it, then finally, stood and strode over to her. 

He didn’t look right at her this time, merely sat down beside her, inhaled deeply, and sighed. 

“Lilac and gooseberry, very unique,” he said. 

“How—?” Yennefer began. 

“Instinct? Or, well, I see people,” the bard explained.“When there’s nothing there to see? That is actually quite a big hint that something magic is going on.” 

“Hmm,” Yennefer said, with a nod.He really wasn’t as dumb as he looked. 

“Have you heard from our mutual friend?” Jaskier said. 

“No,”Yennefer said.“But, no news is good news.” 

“That brings me to a point,” Jaskier said.“I have a letter I’d like to send, and no way to send it. Do you think you could help me with that, at all?” 

“I think…. I could,” Yennefer said.They were not rivals, after all.The song had settled into her mind over the weeks and months since she’d first heard it. The three of them were all in it together, after all. 

“Splendid!” Jaskier said, with a brilliant smile. “Won’t you be my guest, while you’re here in Oxenfurt?” 

He really was quite something, for a human. 


	5. Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer stays with Jaskier in Oxenfurt

Jaskier seemed to know everyone in Oxenfurt.

Not just at the University, though he did know all the professors on a first name basis, and most of the students at least by their areas of concentration.He knew many of the more interesting townspeople as well. 

Yennefer followed Jaskier around Oxenfurt, taking in his descriptive flurry of detail as best she could. The town was a lively place, even without Jaskier’s vivid running commentary, crowded with students and scholars of all ages, rich with money that flowed in from estates all around the continent, replete with the little luxuries students and scholars liked to buy themselves as treats.Unlike Novigrad, Oxenfurt wasn’t purely focused on trade, but every winding street held shops of all kinds, where artists and craftspeople crammed racks full of intriguing goods, next to kitchens featuring various cuisine from across the continent.Oxenfurt couldn't compare in size to Novigrad, but Yennefer quickly saw the appeal for someone like Jaskier, who thrived on creativity and performance.

Jaskier strolled with Yennefer from shop to shop, unhurried, but somehow visiting a double handful of establishments over the afternoon. He picked out sweet rolls from his favorite baker; tea, candles, soap from his apothecary; an array of nuts and dried fruit from a southern emporium; a rather large bottle of Aedirn table wine; everything with an eye to what she favored. Jaskier was remarkably sweet and gracious, considering the way they’d last parted, with Geralt’s emotional meltdown resonating loudly enough that she’d felt it several leagues away. 

All the merchants knew him by name, greeted him with genuine smiles, men and women alike. If Jaskier had magic, it graced him not simply with youth but made him nearly universally beloved. 

As evening drew on, they circled round to an ancient, heavy timbered, four story public house not far from campus, nearer the town market, where Jaskier kept rooms, apologizing as he led her up the three flights of narrow, creaky stairs. The massive timbers were still solid, holding the place together, but the old black floorboards groaned as though singing with the voice of garrulous spirits.Jaskier’s rooms were tiny, the windows pieced together out of diamond panes, and the place would be stiflingly hot in summer — but Jaskier didn’t summer in town.In spring, teased by a hint of early summer, the place was warm, cozy. 

“It’s small, but I hope you’ll find it comfortable,” Jaskier said, offering Yennefer the bed chamber, while his own lavishly appointed bed, along with a settee and mismatched table and chairs, took up the main room. His place was substantially tidier than Yennefer had imagined, if she’d bothered to imagine (she had): books shelved neatly; instruments hung in an ordered array on the walls;tea kettle ready on the hook over the small fire grate.

The bed chamber’s primary use was clearly as storage for books, clothing, and even more musical instruments, but the narrow bed was nicely made up; with its own small table and chair, and a washstand under a tiny window, it made a rather pleasing retreat. 

“This is his room, isn’t it,” Yennefer said, trying not to use a tone of accusation, but failing. 

Jaskier’s chin jutted out for a moment as he bit down on his retort.He sighed.“I have acquaintances all around the Continent, you know. I’m very well traveled! Friends come to visit me often! And, he’s never even been to Oxenfurt, so, there.” 

Yennefer just stared at him, unimpressed. 

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.You’ll find the sheets don’t smell of onions.I assume you’d like to rest a while? Can I order you any kind of refreshment? Assuming mages … eat … food…” 

“Please, order for me what you’d get for yourself,” Yennefer said, graciously enough.“Here.” 

She reached through her pocket and pulled a pouch of gold into her fingers from one of her storage caches in Novigrad.Such a tiny pull of magic shouldn’t ring any alarms, especially since the affairs of Novigrad and Oxenfurt were closely intertwined.

“Please, don’t think of it for a second,” Jaskier declined graciously.“Save your ducats for the marketplace; I’m sure you’ll need … accoutrements, and what not. Dinner is on me.” 

Yenn turned her formidable gaze upon Jaskier, but he had already swept out the door. 

She paused for a moment, then turned back to the small bed chamber. She carried the pitcher from the washstand down the hall to the washroom, where she was shocked to find hot and cold running water available on tap. The building was ancient, but such a modern convenience was nearly unheard of.And, that was a standpipe for the disposal of night soils.Yenn nodded in approval, and filled her pitcher with cold water. 

She carried it back to her room, wet a cloth, and washed up.It was so refreshing just to be clean and relaxed in a safe place.The building did feel remarkably safe. Yenn reached out and felt that the place had been warded — not so much as to draw attention, but thoroughly and well.A blessed silence hovered around it, deflecting the buzz of curiosity or invasive intrusion.Jaskier had chosen the place well. 

After freshening up, Yenn sat in the pleasant chair by the window and turned her attention inwards, breathing and resetting her grounding line from core up to crown and down to foundation; pulling at the threads of magic that flowed through her limbs, straightening and calming them, feeding any places that still felt depleted, draining any places that felt backed up.It was regenerative in the extreme to comb through her magic in this way, and by the time she heard Jaskier return she felt much more alert and alive. 

Jaskier had brought an amazing meal home with him: a steaming pot of mussels in a garlicky wine sauce, along with dense bread and a delightfully sharp cheese, and several bottles of a tasty, bright and unusually flavorful beer.Yennefer didn’t eat as much as a mortal human would, but the delights of such a meal did not escape her. 

“You wanted me to help you send a letter,” Yennefer remarked after dinner. 

Jaskier sighed.“I don’t suppose you remember, that Geralt was rather upset after you left him on the mountain, with the dragons?” 

Yennefer rolled her eyes.“Yes, Jaskier, I remember. I’m not sure you understand how this Djinn curse works.” 

“Curse!” Jaskier exclaimed.“Geralt would never!” 

“Geralt didn’t think,” Yennefer stated without undue rancour. “He acted, in haste and desperation. If he had thought, he would have seen that all the Djinn’s wishes were granted with a violence out of any proportion to the causal desire.” 

“He did it to save you, lady, for no other reason,” Jaskier said, with sincerity fairly beaming out of his ridiculously limpid cornflower eyes. 

“Perhaps saving me was his intent,” Yenn replied. “I don’t really care.He acted against my stated desires, without my consent, with no regard for my wishes or my plans for my own life. He assumed he knew best, which he didn’t. And now, I suffer, he suffers, you suffer…. who knows how much suffering radiates outward from his benevolent intent and arrogant action?” 

Jaskier could say nothing. 

“Yes, bard, I remember that he was upset.” 

“I wanted to send him this letter,” Jaskier said softly.“I was hoping a mage of your caliber could insure that a letter would find its intended recipient.” 

“Yes,” Yennefer said, “that’s no problem.” 

“What do I owe you?” Jaskier said. 

“Nothing magic is free,” Yennefer said.“The price will be the pain you’ve already suffered, the pain I’ve already suffered, the pain he’s already suffered.It’s a high price.I think the letter will reach him quickly.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened and he blew out through his teeth.“I never imagined pain as postage.” 

“That’s why humans are rightly afraid of mages,” Yennefer said.“The letter will leave tomorrow.I will know when he receives it.” 

The next few days were, in all actuality, extremely pleasant. 

Yennefer slept without disturbance in Jaskier’s small but well-appointed guest chamber.He provided her with a basket breakfast every morning, fresh breads, preserves, fruits, cheeses, some hardboiled eggs, a small carafe of apple juice, a selection of breakfast teas from which to choose, and hot water in the kettle on the fire.He noted what she ate the first morning and refined the basket on the second.He really was an attentive and excellent host. 

He seemed to vacate his rooms early in the morning and return around noon each day, offering to escort her around the town.She was still under a glamour, so that no one paid her the attention due one of the most powerful mages on the continent.She was simply a friend of Jaskier, and that was sufficient in Oxenfurt to receive superlative treatment. 

In the evenings Jaskier read, wrote, played upon his instruments, and by his disgruntled mutterings, possibly he was marking student work.It was a quiet life.Yennefer saw now that her surmise about his double life was spot on. 

Oxenfurt weather was perfect at this time of spring, cool at night and sunny by day.Yennefer had learned her way around town, had found a good book shop and several interesting places to lunch, and even ventured out with Jaskier in the evening to hear live music.Jaskier’s friends and frenemies were amongst the most talented troubadours the continent had to offer, and Yennefer could not help but enjoy herself. 

She was just beginning to wonder how long she could prevail upon Jaskier’s good graces — he didn’t seem to mind her presence in his spare room in the slightest, always greeting her with a smile and making pleasant conversation.How he could have spent so many years in the company of the boorish Witcher with none of Geralt’s grumpiness and impatience wearing off on him was beyond Yennefer.She herself was moody, impatient, often angry, sometimes furious, and kindness was not her strong suit, yet Jaskier went out of his way to make her sojourn in Oxenfurt a pleasant one. If she were not so prone to boredom she could easily have envisioned wintering in Jaskier’s cozy abode. 

A week had passed and routines had been established that managed to live up to Yennefer’s liking, when suddenly, routine shattered to a halt. 

Jaskier burst into his suite like a mad man, shouting her name. 

“Yennefer!Yennefer! Are you here? I have news!” 

Yennefer enjoyed sleeping late, nibbling at breakfast with a book in hand, and spending any remaining time in rejuvenating meditation.She wrapped herself in a new silk robe she’d obtained from one of Jaskier’s highly favored clothiers, gracefully threw open the chamber door, and went to see what was the matter. 

Jaskier had flopped on his settee, pressing his forehead with the back of his hand, tears flowing down his cheeks. He’d unbuttoned his doublet and untucked his chemise. 

“What?” Yennefer asked. 

“Geralt.” Jaskier heaved a sigh, bit his lip, and heaved in another deep breath.“He answered. He’s coming. With his child surprise.” 

“Oh,” Yennefer said, and the floor seemed to swim. 

Jaskier sprang up, his own upset forgotten, and led her gently to the settee.From the shelf he took a bottle, black currant nalewka by the scent as he uncorked it, and poured them both hefty servings. 

“He’ll be here soon.I thought you said you’d know when he received it.” 

“He must be — He must’ve been somewhere well warded.” 

“Kaer Morhen I’d wager,” Jaskier said.“If he found his daughter —- Goddess!! By Melitele, he found his daughter!He’d’ve taken her there straight away.” 

The heady liquor burned her throat and calmed her mind just enough. 

“His child surprise.Geralt, with a child.” 

“An amazing child.I was there when he won her, you know, by the Law of Surprise, he’d saved her father’s life from that madwoman Calanthe.The Child is the lion cub of Cintra.” 

“What?!”Yennefer felt the world swim again. 

“Her name is Cirilla.I’ve visited Cintra a few times since her birth.She’s the image of her mother, looks nothing like Calanthe or her father. Her hair is white blonde.If Geralt had a child of his own…. “ 

“The Law of Surprise… but I thought….” 

“You thought he’d abandoned her. No. She was the heir apparent to one of the mightiest kingdoms on the continent.It would’ve been cruelty of the worst kind for Geralt to drag her away from her birth family. But Destiny cannot be so easily thwarted.Perhaps, if he’d taken her, Cintra might never have fallen…. but no matter.Yes.They’re on their way here, Geralt and Cirilla.So we must make ready to welcome them. “ 

“We?” Yennefer said, mind still in a whirl. 

Jaskier’s blue eyes were guileless.How he could have spent two decades with the Witcher Yenn would never understand. 

“Yennefer, your feelings about Geralt aside, your Destinies are entwined.You long above all else for a child, and he is on his way here with a child thrust upon him by Destiny. You must greet him, at the very least, and meet her, and then we shall see what happens next.” 

Yennefer, for once in her life was speechless.Geralt, on his way to Oxenfurt, only a few days lagging behind his letter, with a daughter, heir to the throne of Cintra. The Cintran royal line was threaded through with elven blood; chaos magic erupted regularly in the women.Calanthe, in that regard, was a bit of a disappointment among mage circles, and of course, Cintra dealt only with druids and scorned the involvement of the Brotherhood. 

Now, Destiny was bringing Geralt’s daughter to Oxenfurt, to Yennefer, and to Jaskier. 

What, indeed, would happen next?


	6. Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Ciri make ready to leave Kaer Morhen.

Geralt was raiding the pantry for provisions for Ciri, packing them into his saddlebags, when Eskel found him. 

“So,” Eskel said, leaning his shoulder against Geralt. “Off like the wind to find your bard?” 

“Hm,” Geralt said. Eskel’s weight was familiar and comforting, but Geralt was relieved to hear the ease in his voice as he mentioned Jaskier.Eskel always knew, almost before Geralt did, what he was thinking, and what he really wanted. It wasn’t that Geralt needed Eskel to approve or disapprove of Geralt’s involvement with a human, it was just good to know that his brother understood. 

“Roksana has an idea,” Eskel said. 

“Hm?” Geralt asked. 

Eskel inclined his head and Geralt left his bags to finish later and followed. 

Ciri was somewhere around the Keep, off with Lambert probably.The two of them got on like a house on fire, throwing knuckle bones, playing Gwent with Ciri’s deck of homemade cards (rounded out with ones taken off her uncle Witchers), scrambling around the ruins of the castle with growing ease. Geralt didn’t get on perfectly smoothly with the prickly younger Witcher, but Lambert loved his daughter and would never let her come to harm. 

When Eskel and Geralt arrived at Vesemir’s still room, lined with potions and alchemical ingredients, some Geralt himself had made, Geralt was surprised to find Ciri smocked and seated in a makeshift barber’s chair. Her white curls were sheared short as a boy’s, the ends swept up into a small heap on the floor, while Vesemir’s lady Roksana worked a dark brown dye into the cropped do. 

“That’s a little more subtle, don’t you think?” Roksana said, putting the finishing touches on Ciri’sdark dye job. Ciri beamed up at Geralt, nose wrinkled, her mischievous grin like a picture of Lambert’s. 

“Black walnut husks,” Geralt realized by the smell. 

“And burnt oak gall,” Vesemir said, “so it won’t fade green.”

When Geralt turned up with a young girl in tow, the Wolves of Kaer Morhen had been more welcoming than Geralt had expected. Witchers had always replenished their numbers by the Law of Surprise, but never before had a scion of such a mighty line graced the gates of Kaer Morhen.Eskel had immediately started on helping the girl channel her chaos magic by working with her on Witchers’ Signs; Vesemir set about familiarizing her with his trove of hundreds of years of lore, as well as coaching her on the finer points of swordplay; and Lambert was always ready for whatever exploits or mischief they could dream up together, including plenty of physical conditioning and basic roughhousing. 

The food served that winter at Kaer Morhen was the best Geralt had ever eaten. Lambert and Eskel outdid themselves hunting, making sure that Ciri was treated to fare fit for a princess — even if it was mostly venison and roasted root vegetables, that was what seemed the very best to them and that’s what they made sure to offer.To be sure, Vesemir still ladled out the standard Kaer Morhen porridge every morning, but with plenty of nuts and sweet dried fruit and preserves to make it delicious. 

Then several hens appeared so that Ciri would have fresh eggs.Eskel’s small herd of semi-feral goats began to produce a steady supply of milk, then butter and cheese. And all this in the dead of winter! 

The dramatic improvement in provisions turned out to be the doing of Roksana, a trusted merchant from the coast with wide connections as a trader, who for several years had been sourcing special goods and general sundries for the Keep in general and Vesemir in particular. 

Though Geralt had met Roksana a few times before, he’d never expected to see her during the winter. It was a pretty big surprise to see a human woman living in the Keep, especially one who slept in Vesemir’s chambers.Geralt had never known his old tutor’s smiles to be so free. Roksana brought delightful creature comforts to the Keep, and her gentle woman’s touch helped make the ruined Witcher stronghold into a home for Ciri. 

Geralt was grateful, and even more loath to leave than usual — until the pass finally opened and Jaskier’s letter appeared. His gear was already packed of course, his kit repaired and satchel fully replenished. Winter at home was time well spent, recording the details of Hunts in the atlases, chronicles, and bestiaries of the ancient library;mending armor, putting up ingredients, brewing potions, eating well, and sleeping in safety. On the darkest nights of the year, Wolves gifted each other with useful items, mostly things they’d made themselves, but sometimes goods they’d traded for: a silver blade to stow in one’s boot; a well-made leather flask; small metal bottles with screw on lids. Geralt had put together two extra gifts this year — a pharmacopeia of rare magical ingredients known for their healing properties, and a durable blank book he’d sewn together from parchment and deerskin, where notes for poems or songs could be written down while traveling.He thought there would be no harm in carrying such useful items in his satchel, just in case he needed them for whatever reason. Packing to leave in springtime, obeying the call to the Path.. .never knowing if this time grasping the arm of one’s brothers would be the last… the Witchers’ bittersweet farewell set against a backdrop of birdsong and bright spring blossoms.

Roksana finished Ciri’s transformation with a nod of approval. 

“Now you,” she said to Eskel, sitting him down, throwing a cloth around his shoulders, and working a truly awful-smelling paste into his thick chestnut hair. 

“Gods, what is it?” Eskel wheezed, eyes watering. 

“Ammonia, mostly,” Roksana said with a grin.“This will take a while. Try to think of something else. Now you, Geralt.” 

“Fuck,” Geralt cursed, under his breath, but he found himself taking Eskel’s place in Roksana’s chair while Ciri smiled at herself in the looking glass. 

Vesemir seemed to find the whole ordeal an amusing spectator sport, as Geralt’s hard-earned white locks fell to the floor to be gathered up for plastering.(Ciri’s tresses would be saved and made into falls for when her real color grew back.)

“Don’t I have any say in this?” Geralt muttered to Eskel, flashing his yellow eyes in appeal. 

“No,” Eskel murmured, trying not to breathe. “Your bard sings far too loud about ‘his magnificent White Wolf.’Now you have to give up your good looks to go unnoticed.” 

Geralt growled under his breath, while Roksana cut his hair to somewhere between Lambert and Eskel’s preferred lengths, and dyed it dark, along with his brows, then trimmed his beard short and dyed it as well. 

When she was done, he hardly knew himself in the glass. A dark-haired stranger looked back at him with glowing Witcher eyes. 

“Take this with you,” Roksana said, handing him a bottle.“You’ll need to reapply it when the roots begin to grow out.But it should throw off anyone looking for the White Wolf and cub, at least for a time.” 

“Privies.Rotten eggs.Swamp gas,” Eskel moaned.“Being pelted by rotten eggs while drowning in a privy in the swamp.Urgh!” 

Ciri laughed.“At least ours wasn’t that bad!” she whispered to Geralt. 

“I’m not doing it,” Lambert said, from where he sat lurking in the farthest corner. 

“No help for you,” Geralt teased, as Lambert rolled his eyes. 

“You know, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” Lambert said, superciliously. 

Geralt realized his shorter hair and dyed mustache and beard were somewhat reminiscent of the younger Wolf, but without his deep widow’s peak.

“The point is that no one will know who we are,” Ciri said. “Geralt won’t look like Geralt, and I’ll look like a boy! I tried to put mud in my hair to hide it when I was on the run.” 

“Boys are muddy,” Lambert offered.“You could probably do with a streak of mud added here and there.” 

Ciri nodded.“We look good though, I think.Thanks, Roksana.” 

“Certainly, dear heart.You’ll be traveling swiftly, but it never hurts to muddy your description — as it were. Eskel, let’s see you now that Geralt is done.” 

Eskel sat back down in the chair, and Roksana examined a strand of his hair.“Perfect,” she said. Leaning him back over a basin, she carefully rinsed his hair, and Geralt was startled to see how pale it had gone. 

“It’s not snow white,” Roksana said, “but it’ll do.” 

“No one will ever mistake me for Geralt,” Eskel said, nose still wrinkled. 

“But if they mostly noticed your medallion, golden eyes, and pale hair? It’s at least something,”Vesemir said. 

“They’d as soon mistake you for him,” Eskel answered his elder. 

“We’ll be going out on the Path too, at least for a while,” Vesemir said.“Roksana’s been hoping to spend a few weeks along the coast.” 

The coast must be something indeed if it lured Vesemir out of the keep — but all the Witchers wanted to help throw trackers off Ciri’s trail.Of course Vesemir did sometimes choose to walk the Path, but Geralt knew it was all for the love of Ciri that the Wolves were determined to do their part.Geralt remembered with deep regret how Jaskier’s idea of visiting the coast together had come to nothing because of his cruel words. 

“I’ll shadow you,” Lambert said to Geralt, “in case anything goes wrong.” 

Geralt met the eye of the younger Witcher and sincerely nodded his thanks.Witchers kept to themselves on the Path, spreading themselves wide over the Continent —but Ciri’s arrival at the Keep, a young one eager to learn the ways of the Wolves, had changed everything. 

“How long to Oxenfurt?” she asked. 

Geralt thought of Jaskier’s letter, so gracious and honest. The years they’d spent on and off together were but a fraction of Geralt’s life, truly the best of it.He thought of the bard’s wit, his sarcastic but goodhearted nature, and how he valued Geralt’s welfare much higher than Geralt did himself.Geralt knew, in his heart, that Jaskier would be a valuable ally in the years to come, keeping Ciri safe, but more importantly, showing her the best that human society had to offer.Calanthe hadn’t done that, and that was one thing Witchers couldn’t do either. And then there was that tantalizing trace of Yennefer.Geralt didn’t want to care, but more importantly, Ciri’s powers had already singled out Yennefer as someone she needed to meet.Now with the other Wolves putting Ciri’s wellbeing ahead of the Path, she was better equipped than ever to make the most of her astonishing potential. 

“Less than a week,” Geralt said. “Fast as we can.” 

With heartfelt thanks expressed in rough hugs and backslaps, Geralt bid farewell to his family, and they went their several ways, Geralt and Ciri speeding south and west towards Oxenfurt. 


	7. Jaskier's newest song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Jaskier is emotionally overwrought, he composes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains an original song. [To hear my song on Soundcloud, click this link.](https://soundcloud.com/user-576818933/beloved-wolf)

Jaskier was still a little bit in shock. 

It had been a fairly uneventful week since Yennefer had unexpectedly made contact with him, then graciously helped him send a note to Geralt.It was strange, having the sorceress living in his tiny guest room, essentially his new room mate.She’d been surprisingly quiet and pleasant.Perhaps Jaskier had reason to feel angry or even jealous of her, but he was not getting any younger and life was too short to bear grudges. Besides, when he asked her to, she helped him, and, she was injured, depleted in her magic, though she was trying not to show it. It wasn’t that Jaskier had any special feeling for magic, but he’d traveled long enough with Geralt to know when someone needed to take some time in a safe place to recover. 

Then, a raven had interrupted his lunch with a reply from Geralt tied to its leg.

Jaskier had staggered back to his rooms feeling like he’d taken a blow to the head. But once there, he had to focus and comfort Yennefer, who also had to deal with the shocking news of Geralt having acquired his child surprise. 

Jaskier had only seen Cirilla once or twice.He was not the favored court singer in Cintra after the debacle of Pavetta’s betrothal party.But he was a traveling bard, and his travels had carried him through the south, though north of Nilfgaard after things started getting weird there. Jaskier knew how to look scatterbrained while he was taking notice.He had seen the Princess outside the palace walls, from a distance. She had fine features like her mother and white blonde hair— like Geralt, Jaskier couldn’t help thinking. 

When Cintra fell, there was no word about the fate of Calanthe’s, Geralt’s, cub. Jaskier kept his ears open and told a few trusted friends to do the same. Princess Cirilla had disappeared, and Nilfgaard still seemed to be searching for her. Jaskier was in the dark until Geralt’s letter arrived. 

Emotion flooded through Jaskier all over again — to think of Geralt, the taciturn, if not downright grumpy Witcher, learning to love a daughter.Jaskier knew how gentle Geralt could be with children.Over the years, Jaskier had made an ongoing study to learn as much about Witchers as possible.He knew about the various schools, and their fates. He knew as much as any outsider about how Witchers often took in orphans, foundlings, or children of surprise.He knew that the only Witchers people ever saw were — or appeared to be—large, brawny men.Perhaps Destiny sorted this out for the Witchers or perhaps their transformations did it for them.But Geralt, for whatever reason, treated children gently, almost tenderly, lowering his voice around them, moving with caution, and evening out his expressions.Jaskier knew how well Geralt cared for his horse, and, if he were honest, Geralt had taken care of him many times as well.Jaskier had tried his best to hold his own, or better, on the Path, but Geralt was a protector and a provider.The magicks that made him might have been responsible for the first, but his own personality, harsh and stern as he was, made up the second. 

Jaskier had felt it, Geralt’s gentleness, his instinct to be protective. The many times Geralt put himself between Jaskier and bodily harm, be it from a monster or a hard-hearted human. Icy mornings waking up to feel the Witcher pulling away, the toasty warmth on his back instantly cooling as Geralt moved away to start breakfast, heating up water for tea with a twist of his fingers. Now, holding Geralt’s courtly letter in his nerveless hand, the feelings poured forth through phrases a century out of date— the emotions Geralt wrote about so eloquently, the same Jaskier had always witnessed glowing in the Witcher’s golden eyes, but choked by that mighty throat.

What would it be like to have Geralt set foot in this room, with his daughter in tow? 

Jaskier had never dared dream that Geralt would ever visit him in Oxenfurt.He hadn’t been lying about the guest room — it really was for out-of-town friends. Of course he hadn’t let on that he actually owned the building.He could have given Yennefer a suite of her own. He preferred to keep the fortunate state of his finances to himself, with the exception of one or two exceptionally well-made doublets, and excellent relationships with the restaurateurs, merchants and vendors of Oxenfurt. 

Jaskier imagined Yennefer taking a room in his building; he imagined that when she was back in better sorts that she could probably make a small closet seem like an expansive villa.It could be nice to have a sorceress for a friend. He hoped their friendship was growing, but of course, he’d been made a fool before. 

But he hadn’t been a fool after all, with Geralt, had he? He still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. 

Geralt would be here, soon.Geralt!with his awful black armor and his two scary swords. He would demand the best stable for Roach and ask little for himself. But with his daughter along, Geralt might be very different.There was no point prognosticating.When they arrived, Jaskier would spring into action. 

Until then, he would sit here upon this settee, and practice his scales like a good little bard. 

He practiced, falling into the settled state of mind the lute always produced.He ran his scales faster and faster, running through all the modes.He ran his most difficult show pieces and found his inner calm. 

Geralt loved him, he had said so. 

Geralt, the White Wolf, was his, or would be, after so many years. 

Geralt was coming to him.To him! No more running into him “by accident” in some backwater village.Geralt was coming, on purpose, to see him, at Oxenfurt, and, he loved him.He had said so!

_[[click here to hear the song ]](https://soundcloud.com/user-576818933/beloved-wolf)_

_Far above this cruel world_  
_Stars shine bright, cold stars shine bright_  
_Howling creatures cry alone_  
_in the night, in the cold dark night_  
  
_Howl your heart out Wolf_  
_Howl your anguish clear_  
_Howl alone now Wolf until I hold you warm and near_  
  
_All around this cruel world_  
_Shadows abide, evil shadows abide_  
_Innocence needs a strong protector_  
_by her side, always by her side_  
  
_Guard your daughter Wolf_  
_Hold her safe and near_  
_Howl for me my Wolf and I’ll kiss away your tears_  
  
_All across this wild world_  
_there is good and bad, black / white and gray_  
_I will sing your noble deeds_  
_and they’ll hear what I say, attend to what I say_  
  
_You’re my beloved Wolf_  
_with your great and tender soul_  
_Come to me my Wolf and I will hold you till you’re whole_  
  
_Hold me and I’ll hold you till our wounds are all made whole .... Awoo!_

Jaskier could almost feel Geralt’s heat, wrapped around him.The strength in Geralt’s arms.The solidity of him as they sat side by side, around a campfire or at table in some random village.The silken feel of Geralt’s hair running through his fingers, or his supple skin, when Jaskier was privileged to bathe him.The smoldering intensity of his golden gaze.His chuckle, little more than a broken rumble.The glimpse of one of his sharp canines, when Jaskier made him grin despite himself. 

“Bard — did you just howl?” Yennefer asked, leaning against the door of her room, looking amazing in one of her new silk robes.

Jaskier blushed hot and stood to put his lute back on the wall. 

“Ah!Yes.That was.The composition process.” 

“Very sweet. Perhaps he will give you one of those medallions.”The sorceress wandered over to the table, picked up an apple, and bit into it. 

Jaskier’s eyes widened.“That…!Sounds highly unlikely. Witchers’ medallions, they don’t part with them till death.” 

“Maybe he’ll have his copied for you,” Yennefer mused, chewing. 

“You’re teasing me!Stop that at once. Besides, it’s almost time for supper.What do you think, 

Skelligan or Zerrikanian? There’s a little Zerrikanian place, hardly more than a hole in the wall, but they make the spiciest lentils! My lady, would you care to accompany me?”

  
So Yennefer and Jaskier whiled away another evening in Oxenfurt, as the Witcher and his Child came ever nearer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [To hear my song on Soundcloud, click this link.](https://soundcloud.com/user-576818933/beloved-wolf) Please do not copy or post the song elsewhere, but you may certainly share the link!
> 
> I have several other original and collaborative Witcher songs as well! 
> 
> If you know someone who might need a tune for a song, please encourage them to contact me!


	8. Introducing a Royal to a Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Ciri arrive at Oxenfurt.

The rain poured down in buckets, and heavy clouds turned the day dark. Ciri was wrapped in a cloak nowhere near as fine as the one of royal blue, edged with rich embroidery that she’d worn when she’d fled from Cintra.But even if her dark wool cloak was heavy and rough and smelled like sheep, it was thick and warm and she was mostly dry inside it, so that was good. Besides, she was on top of Roach, and pressed back against the rock wall that was her new father, Geralt of Rivia, so she was safe, maybe safer than she’d ever been, even when she was Princess of Cintra. So that was even better. 

Roach was sure-footed on the cobbles despite the fact that she was carrying two riders.She stepped carefully, and Geralt didn’t push her beyond her pace.The winding streets of Oxenfurt were nearly deserted in the heavy rain, but the Witcher seemed to know his way. He’d never mentioned to Ciri if he’d ever been to Oxenfurt before, but that didn’t matter one way or the other. Geralt had been alive for decades, and Ciri had learned over the winter that Geralt’s visualmemory was phenomenally precise.Show him a map, and he could recreate it from memory.Maybe he’d gone up to Vesemir’s library and looked up a map of Oxenfurt.Or maybe, someone had once talked away an evening, describing the City, painting it for Geralt’s mind’s eye in glowing, poetical terms.Geralt would have contrasted everything that someone had said with the facts in the atlas he carried in his head — despite knowing that the atlas was maybe a handful of decades out of date.Geralt would update his mental records and make adjustments once he saw Oxenfurt with his own superhuman eyes. 

Roach walked slowly, and Geralt held onto Ciri lightly, shielding her with his own cloak even though she was inside her own, keeping her dry from the rain, which tapered off and got stronger by turns.They’d had an easier journey than they had taken precautions against. Riding long days, but not pushing Roach any harder than the sturdy mare could bear.Ciri’s winter of training had toughened her enough that she could trot beside Geralt when the two of them took to their own feet to give Roach a break.They had camped in deserted forests without incident, encountering few monsters and no Nilfgaardian outrangers.So, a very pleasant journey — until they were swamped by rain on the very last day. 

Geralt guided Roach to a four-story timber-framed building not far from the market square nearest the university. The sign at the building’s entrance was a painting of a woman playing a lute.Geralt dismounted, and Ciri followed. They led Roach through a gateway into the courtyard, where they found a stable, as Geralt seemed to expect.They took care of Roach themselves, hanging up her tack and wiping her down, and Ciri made sure she had fresh hay and a measure of oats, then they crossed the courtyard again and entered the main building by a rear door. 

Geralt had a certain way of entering a room that impressed Ciri, even when it was just a quiet and friendly-seeming tavern. His unblinking golden gaze took everything in.He found the best place to sit where he could see and not necessarily be seen. Ciri tried to see like him. Why near the hearth instead of the far corner? 

“Our cloaks will dry faster here.Warmer for you.Better line of sight to the kitchens.” 

Why would she care about the kitchens? 

Ciri sat down on one of the tall-backed benches built to capture the warmth from the hearth,  and waited to see what Geralt would do next. 

The woman behind the bar greeted Geralt.“Welcome to the Chameleon. I’m Marta.How can I help you this evening?” 

“I’m looking for the Bard, Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled. He always sounded to Ciri as if he hadn’t spoken in a month, even though it wasn’t the case.

“You’ve come to the right place,” Marta answered.“I can send a boy up to announce you — who should he tell him is calling?” 

“Wolf,” the Witcher answered, his voice just above a growl. The woman shivered. Ciri hated how humans reacted to her adoptive father’s eerie differences — his too bright golden eyes, his deathly pallor, the metallic odor that came off his skin— all things she’d gotten used to, but other humans seemed to find unnerving. 

Marta called into the kitchen, telling someone to go fetch the master.Geralt cocked his head as though tracking the boy as he pounded up three flights of unseen servants’s stairs. 

“Please, a bowl of hot broth for my lad,” Geralt ground out. 

With a nod, Marta disappeared into the kitchen. 

Ciri tried to look as dull as she could, letting her face hang slack like a doltish kid, like the boys she’d once thought were her friends.Her wild curls were short, dyed black to match Geralt’s,  peeping out from under a boyish round cap. Ciri liked the ease of boy’s clothing, and didn’t really hanker for the restrictive garb of a princess. She’d heard her grandmother make much the same complaint many a time. 

Ciri heard some commotion from the kitchen, maybe like someone pounding down the servant stairs the boy had gone up. 

Just as the bar woman was backing through the swinging kitchen door with some bread and broth on tray, a living whirlwind darted past her at top speeds, bursting out of the kitchen like a djinn out of a jar. 

He was only half dressed, bare-footed, with his chemise mostly untied. Ciri felt a smile warm her face as Jaskier latched onto Geralt like some sort of creature that latches onto things… he seemed to be hugging and grabbing any part of Geralt he could grab, while sobbing like a maniac into Geralt’s shoulder. 

Ciri herself had flown at Geralt like that, before she had even consciously known who he was.She remembered the wonderful feeling of plastering onto a solid wall of Witcher.She was grinning so hard, and maybe her eyes were misty.

Jaskier was a blubbering mess,sobbing on Geralt’s shoulder, and Geralt’s scarred and massive hands were gently stroking the bard’s back, even as Jaskier gripped him with all his strength. 

“Where is she?” Jaskier finally pulled back enough to ask. 

Geralt tilted his head back toward the hearth where Ciri had risen to stand near the benches. She saw Jaskier take a breath and compose himself a little, putting on a public face.It was something she had also been trained how to do. 

He stood a little straighter, took a deep breath, and wiped his face on his left shirt sleeve. Ciri thought Jaskier might have preferred an elaborately embroidered lace hanky, but he was in dishabille, so perhaps he hadn’t one to hand. 

He strode across the room with a lot more dignity than he had come in, Geralt following him with that little quirk of his lips that on anyone else would have been a broad smile. Ciri very well knew he had missed his bard. 

“Cyril, meet Jaskier,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier barked a laugh and met Ciri’s eye.Subtly, she smiled back. “Exceptionally pleased to make your acquaintance, Cyril,” Jaskier said, and he made fancy motions with his right foot and left arm, while nodding and shaking Ciri’s hand. 

Ciri stood straight and still, accepting the handshake, and warmly said, “Likewise.” 

“I’m sure your journey has been tiring.And this rain!I see you are none the worse for wear. Thank Melitele for small favors!Marta, please, send the best Cook has at hand up to my room, enough for six people.” 

“Right away, sir,” Marta answered, sighing at the tray she still held, laden with broth and bread she’d just served out. 

Jaskier led Geralt by the hand, and Ciri followed them through the warm kitchen, up the twisting servant’s stairs to Jaskier’s rooms.

“I must warn you,” Jaskier was saying, “Yennefer is here, she’s been my guest, you know, since she helped me send you the letter? She’s actually a very gracious guest.I wouldn’t have guessed. But maybe you have spent more time with her than I have, well, of course you have…” 

As the bard rambled nervously on, sniffling only a little, and leading Geralt by one hand, Ciri remembered what she had learned of Yennefer.The Witchers she had spent the winter with were extremely reserved about mages, some might even say prejudiced against them.Vesemir and Eskel hardened their jaws whenever Geralt let Yen’s name slip, while Lambert railed against sorcerers loudly at any mention of their interference.Ciri had slowly come to realize that mages had taken part in the creation of Witchers, and had orchestrated the deadly trials that sacrificed so many Destiny had led toward the Path — most importantly, it had been mages who had subjected Geralt to more mutations than any other Witcher, resulting in his deathly pallor, and possibly an enhanced ability to heal from deadly wounds. 

Geralt didn’t speak of Yennefer very often, but Ciri heard her name and glimpsed her face in her own dreams: raven hair, a proud and haughty face, determined violet eyes, and powerful hands swirling with fire and chaos.Ciri knew that kind of chaos from the inside, only Yennefer might be able to help her channel and tame it.Ciri wasn't alarmed by the sorceress’s violet eyes or Elven ancestry— Ciri had Elves in her own family tree, and her mother Pavetta had also been deemed a Source.That at least Mousesack had deigned to inform her, although he never told her what it meant or what she was supposed to do about it. 

Apparently Jaskier lived on the building’s top floor, at the other end of a long hall from the servant’s stairs. 

“Ciri, Geralt, please feel most welcome to my humble abode,” he said, opening the door with a flourish. 

The room was smaller than Ciri expected, though it was larger than Geralt’s at Kaer Morhen. The room was divided roughly in two, with seating around a small hearth, a settee, a writing table near the window.The walls were crammed with books and instruments. A curtained bed took up the far wall, next to a door. 

Yennefer of Vengerberg stood next to the settee, looking stern. 

Geralt was stiff and his face was blank.Ciri remembered Geralt telling her they hadn’t had an easy parting when they’d seen each other last. 

“Geralt, you seem well,” Yennefer said. 

“As do you,” Geralt returned, then seemed to run out of words. 

Ciri caught Jaskier’s eye just as he seemed about to panic at the galloping awkwards in the room. 

“Yes!Cirilla of Cintra, I’d like to introduce the mage, Lady Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

Ciri was stunned for a second, realizing at Jaskier’s words that she was in fact the presumptive Queen in exile, if ever Cintra’s throne were re-established. Somehow she had still been thinking of herself as no more than a princess, even while undergoing an extraordinary ordeal. But it wasn’t true. Her grandmother and grandfather were gone, and she was Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Queen of Cintra.She felt her face draw together into a scowl as she thought of it, and quickly tried to shake it off, stepping toward Yennefer with hands slightly raised. 

Yennefer smiled slightly, mirroring her posture, and Ciri lightly embraced the mage, who bent a little to offer her cheek. She smelled like lilac and berries, just like she did in dreams. Ciri pressed her cheek to Yen’s and as she did, she felt a heavy burden leave her shoulders. 

Sighing heavily she stepped back and gave Yennefer a broad smile. “I’m so glad to meet you at last.” 

“What has Geralt been saying?” Yennefer asked. 

“Not much,” Ciri laughed.“But you know I’m a child of Destiny — I’ve felt her pulling me toward you for a long time.” 

“Oh,” Yen said, her eyes wide.She didn’t seem to know what to say next. 

“Well!” Jaskier exclaimed, clapping his hands together.“Let’s not stand on ceremony, as much as I love introducing mages to royals, let’s get settled!Geralt, I see you travel light as ever. Ciri, do you need to visit the privy?” 

“Um,” Ciri said. 

“It’s right down the hall, goodness, I should have shown you a moment ago. Come, let me show you.” 

Jaskier bundled Ciri out of the room before she knew what was happening. 

“We have to give them a moment,” he said, very much under his breath. 

“But I thought we were coming to find you,” Ciri said. 

“That’s a lovely thing for you to say,” Jaskier said, “but it’s only half the truth.Geralt tied her fate to his, for better or for worse, and now your Destiny ties you to both of them.All I ask is a chance to find a little happiness, in the midst of all of this — for me, for Geralt, for you, even Yen. We can all be happy, I think. Just for a little while.I hope?” 

“I hope so too,” Ciri whispered.It felt a little dangerous to say it too loud. 

Jaskier nodded, and sighed.“Here, this is the ‘water closet.’Rather new fangled.I think in Cintra, they still dump the night soils down the castle wall?” 

Ciri nodded. 

“This is called plumbing. Here at the Chameleon we have the most modern conveniences.Hot, or at least warmish, water, from a sun-heated tank on the roof, and running cold water as well, gravity fed from a long way off via aqueduct.” 

Ciri didn’t really understand.But Jaskier ran a pitcher of cold water from what he called “the tap” to carry back to the room, and showed her how the privy “worked,” then left her to herself. 

When she emerged from the privy, or, “water closet,” Ciri found Yennefer waiting for her. 

“Hi,” she said. 

“Hi,” the mage said back. She had the softest look in her shining amethyst eyes. 

“I really am very glad to finally meet you,” Ciri said. 

“Geralt says, you’re to be my daughter,” Yennefer said, her voice breaking.Her eyes were suspiciously shiny. 

“Geralt’s been a pretty good father, I think,” Ciri said, “since he finally gave in to Destiny.Jaskier says you’re tied up in it too.” 

“I want to be a mother more than anything,” Yennefer whispered, then looked shocked as the tears in her eyes overflowed. 

“I can’t really remember having a mother,” Ciri said, pulling out a hanky for the mage.It was a plain, broad handkerchief, nothing like the ones her ladies in waiting had constantly embroidered. The Witchers all carried them, and Lambert had tucked three into her pocket before she left.

Yennefer dried her eyes, looking shy, if such a thing was possible for someone so beautiful and proud. 

“My mother looked like me, white hair and all.I remember my nurses more, and Grandmother of course. But you know so much that I need to learn. A mage’s wisdom — taught with a mother’s care?” 

It was certainly the best courtly speech that Ciri had ever given.She’d been thinking it up all winter, letting her feeling coalesce into words.It was a lovely relief to let it pour out, like the waters of Brokilon Forest. 

“That sounds wonderful,” Yennefer said, and they embraced again, and it felt easier and a lot more relaxed than it had before. 

They laughed a little, and Yennefer dried her tears, and they strolled back to Jaskier’s rooms. 

“I wonder if it’s safe to walk in or if we should knock,” Yen said. 

“Why?” Ciri asked. 

“That answers that,” Yennefer said, coughing loudly and stamping a little before she opened the door. 

Jaskier and Geralt were standing in the middle of the room, and Jaskier wouldn’t let go of Geralt’s hand. 

Geralt was frowning, the one he made when he was secretly happiest. 

Jaskier was grinning, and red faced, and his lips looked like he’d bitten them. 

Before they had to say anything, another knock came at the door, and servants bustled in with trays full of supper, pheasant in sauces, and soups and vegetables and many other things, and Ciri forgot to think of anything but fine Toussaintine cuisine, at least until she passed out on the settee, and felt Geralt making sure she was warm before Jaskier blew out the candles and the two men pulled the bed curtains closed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't read the books or played the game.... the Chameleon is just from what I can gather online. I couldn't help giving them plumbing. :)


	9. Pillow talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier together at last!

Jaskier pulled the curtains closed around his bed frame. He tapped two crystals together on the headboard, and they gave a faint crackle and then glowed, dim as fireflies in the cavern of the enclosed bed. 

Geralt’s medallion gave the slightest buzz as the curtains fell into place and the feeling of the air inside the cozy chamber changed. The air was fresher, somehow, inside the curtains; a perfect temperature, just a little chilly, but nothing Jaskier’s blankets couldn’t handle; and the ambient noises of the City, even the sounds of rain hitting the tiny windows of Jaskier’s room, fell away to nothing. 

“Isn’t it nice? The indoor charm’s not really that expensive, a lot simpler than something like Yennefer’s tent.Regulates temperature, muffles sound through the curtains, even helps keep the bedclothes fresh…”Geralt was used to Jaskier’s nervous rambling. 

“So,” Geralt rumbled, “we don’t have to worry about keeping warm.”

Jaskier’s eyes were huge in the dim light. 

“Right,” he said. “…. and… if someone outside were to call your name, the sound charm would let it through.” 

“Hm,” Geralt said apporvingly.The corner of his mouth lifted in such a way that he knew he was showing one of his sharp canines.Jaskier had always reacted to the sight of his sharp teeth exactly the opposite of any other humans, leaning toward him in hungry fascination instead of running the other way. 

“So I shouldn’t call your name, then, if I don't want Ciri to hear?” Geralt teased. 

Jaskier actually swayed toward Geralt, looking a bit drunk. 

“Call my name?” Jaskier murmured. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt mouthed soundlessly. 

“No, it’s okay from inside,” Jaskier whispered. 

“I can hear you if you whisper,” Geralt whispered back. 

“I know,” Jaskier breathed, and shivered.

“But,” Geralt added, “if you were to make noise…” 

“It’s true, I can be very loud,” Jaskier said. 

“Hm,” Geralt acknowledged. 

Jaskier blushed.“I can’t believe it’s taken us this long…. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.” 

The mountain loomed over them for a moment, the thin hot sunshine of that day, the fury and desperation of Geralt’s clumsy outburst, the painful weakness dogging Jaskier’s steps as he stumbled down the mountain. 

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said.“Temper’s no excuse. I was frustrated and I took it out on you, like a child.Destiny’s not so bad, after all.” 

“Destiny….” Jaskier said, with a little wry frown.“I felt it, you know, the very first time I laid eyes on you. I felt Her pulling us together.” 

Geralt frowned back. “Destiny is something I’ve always striven against.”

Jaskier said, “Can we cuddle up while you talk? I think it’ll make things easier.” 

Geralt felt a blissful charge run down his limbs as Jaskier turned and slotted himself back against the Witcher’s body. It was nothing they hadn’t done many times before, in camps, in the rain, in the narrow beds of crowded lodgings. But this time, for the first time, they both were ready to see what might happen next, to take the leap toward one another.

The apple and lemon smell of Jaskier’s hair rose up into Geralt’s nostrils, and the unruly tousles tickled him under the chin.They got comfortable, wiggling until they were pressed together. 

“My mother gave me up to Kaer Morhen — first time Destiny screwed me over.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said.He could feel the tension in Geralt’s body as the simple story brought up hard memories. 

Gerald fought through the memories.Destiny brought young boys to Kaer Morhen, dooming so many to die.Those who died on the Path — at least they died for a reason.

“She had magic, she could’ve kept me, but Destiny made me a Witcher — a life no one would choose for themselves or for their children,” he managed. 

“I’m so sorry,” Jaskier said again, clinging gently to Geralt’s massive arm. 

“We were so scared, and right to be. All gone now… only a few hang on.” Decades had passed since the programs, turning the ache inside Geralt into stoic determination. 

“Do you think there’s some reason that Ciri was destined for you?”Jaskier asked. “Is she meant to become a Witcher? She looks so much like you.” 

Geralt remembered seeing her running toward him, her white hair flying, the exultant mixture of pain and joy in his heart crying daughter.Destiny had given her to him. Geralt had a feeling Ciri was something new, something needed, that the World had coalesced into being to make things better.

“Before I ever saw her, the need grew to find her, protect her.I tried to fight it, but she is my daughter.” 

Just as Destiny had led Jaskier to him time after time. 

“Ciri found me… you found me, no matter where the Path led me,”Gerald began. “Destiny, it had to be… “

“Give me some credit, Geralt,” Jaskier said, faux indignant. “I can find my way around by now, you know!” 

Geralt grunted in frustration. “Destiny fucks me over, time after time — but not with Ciri, not with you.” 

“I hope you mean that,” Jaskier said, a little nervously. 

“I do,” Geralt rumbled. 

“Show me then,” Jaskier said. 

Geralt scooted back from where he was tucked around Jaskier, and rolled them to face each other. Gerald could only imagine his own monstrous face looming over Jaskier in the dark, the gold of his mutated irises glittering, thin rings in the dim light, the inhuman pupils wide and flashing like an animal, fangs gleaming out of his smile. 

“You don’t treat me the way humans treat Witchers,” Geralt rumbled. “You make me want things a Witcher shouldn’t want.But now, the rules are breaking. And if there are no rules, who better than you to have by my side?”

“So, I’m the bad boy in this scenario?” Jaskier laughed. “OK, I can manage that!It’s true I never do what people expect.” 

“Yes,” Geralt said. “That’s what I want. Witcher ways are ending, I need to do things differentlynow.They taught us we could never love, and I know that isn’t right.” 

“You wrote in your letter that you love me,” Jaskier said. “Can you say it out loud?” 

“You wrote it first,” Geralt said, like a schoolboy.

“Well, I know I can say it. Now you say it, and I’ll say it back.” Jaskier laughed, and a big playful smile made his youthful looks ageless. 

“I love you, Jaskier.I’m so glad you’re here,” Geralt said softly. 

“You made a rhyme!I love you too, of course.I always have, since the first time I laid eyes on you.” 

Geralt thought back to the Inn at Posada, when Jaskier was still singing terrible songs. 

“Your songs really did get better after traveling with me,” Geralt teased. 

“You’re an excellent muse,” Jaskier said archly. 

“You’re an excellent liar,” Geralt said. 

“I prefer ‘poet’,” Jaskier said. “Poetry dresses up old words and takes them out dancing as fresh new truths.”

Geralt’s lip twitched. 

“You liked that!”Jaskier whispered, in triumph.He licked his finger and drew an imaginary tally mark. 

“One for Jaskier,” Geralt laughed. 

“Excuse you,” Jaskier said.“That was 977.Only 23 more, and I’ll have a thousand smiles out of a Witcher!”

“hm,” Geralt said. 

“978!” Jaskier crowed. 

Geralt moved in and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s 

Jaskier gave in with a moan, his lips soft and tender, yielding to Geralt’s gentle explorations. 

“One,” Geralt said. 

“One?” Jaskier whispered. 

Geralt kissed him again.“Two.” 

“If this is a contest, I’m in it to lose,” Jaskier said.“Besides, you got a head start before when Ciri and Yenn were down the hall.” 

“You wanna start over?” Geralt said, distractedly, nibbling at Jaskier’s jaw. 

“Yes!” Jaskier said with aggressive certainty.“We’ll start fresh at one every day, and whoever gets to a thousand first wins!” 

“What do I get if I win?” Geralt asked. 

“Whatever you want?” Jaskier offered. 

“Deal,” Geralt said. 

Witchers have always been known to excel at contracts, and Geralt always played to win. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost the end! If the last scene becomes more explicit, should I post it as a separate story?   
> If you have any requests regarding what you'd like to see to wind this up, please let me know!!


	10. Behind the Curtains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Geralt and Jaskier together, the story comes to a close.

Behind the curtains, two people were hidden, in a space that was dim but not too dark, not too cold and not too warm, on a bed that was soft, under blankets even softer. 

Behind the curtains, two people told secrets, in whispers, laughter, sometimes choked voices, and kissed each other’s tears away. 

Behind the curtains, they held each other, gentle and strong, letting down their guard, letting the false front fall away, relaxing and being just who they were, discovering themselves in the face of pure loving acceptance, just how wonderful they were known to be. 

Bright smiles glowed on gorgeous faces. 

Fingers pushed through silky hair. 

Strong, calloused hands stroked tender skin. 

One was a bard, a liar, a fashioner of tales, a lover’s lover — 

One was a fighter, a killer, a knight, a protector —

because the world demanded mitigated truths, selective slaughter. 

Together, they stepped out of the lives they had fashioned. They threw away the stories, the roles they played, the should-haves and ought-tos. 

Geralt shed his armor, laid down his swords. 

Jaskier shed his silks, hung up his lute. 

The world could wait, outside the curtains. 

Inside, Jaskier was strong and certain, gentle, loving, perceptive. Honesty rang in his every sigh, profound care in his every touch. 

Inside, Geralt was tender and giving, every sigh serene and expressive, every sense attuned to his partner’s pleasure. He was hungry to love and to be loved. 

Jaskier’s silver tongue and cutting wit turned to kind observations and gentle words. He slaked Geralt’s thirst for kisses, and murmured his adoration.Jaskier had loved for years; Geralt’s qualities were Jaskier’s mantra of perfection.Now, at last, behind the curtains, he could open up his throat and let his honeyed words pour forth. 

Destiny brought them together, again and again, and would not let them stay apart for long. Geralt ran away, turning his devotion to duty; Jaskier ran away, chasing his art and his fame.Finally, now, in each other’s arms, they found the meaning they’d always been looking for. Geralt would offer his life to protect his beloved.Jaskier had an audience, but more, he had his beloved to pamper and surround with creature comforts. 

Geralt was a predator, senses acute, reflexes like lightning.Geralt had bound up every urge with chains of restraint, but now, behind the curtains, he could let himself want. His mutations were well known to Jaskier; nothing about him was shocking. Jaskier adored his golden eyes, just as he loved Jaskier’s human blue; Jaskier’s heart pounded with arousal, not fear, when Geralt was faster and stronger than human. 

The delicate scent of Jaskier’s bed was lavender and roses; his hair was sweet with apples and lemons.Geralt smelt like onions, the metallic scent of his sweat, and the deathy odor of his advanced mutations.To Jaskier, Geralt’s scent was familiar and dear, even though it irritated Geralt’s own nose.Jaskier’s bed smelled clean and fresh (possibly due to the charm on the bedstead crystals) and it made Geralt feel strangely carefree and happy.Jaskier smelled as clear as water, happy in his own home, where everything he wanted was at his fingertips. 

“I am so glad you are here,” Jaskier whispered to Geralt. 

“At last,” Geralt said.“At last.” 

After so long, so many years when circumstances were not perfect, or when warring impulses ruled the day, at last they were together, safe, with nothing left to hold them apart. 

“I just want you to know, how much I love you,” Jaskier said. “I’ve wanted you for years, however I could have you.And now, you’re here.Whatever I can give, it’s already yours.” 

“I love you, too,” Geralt said. “So long, I’ve pushed you away — no longer.”

“I hoped, trusted, knew this day would come,” Jaskier said. 

“Yes,” Geralt answered. 

Their lips came together, mingling their breath.Their bodies pressed together, strength against strength.They fought a little, yielded a little, each in turn. They were evenly matched, each in their own way.Jaskier laughed, and teased, and had his way with Geralt.Geralt growled, and bit, and had his way with Jaskier. Together they were fierce, and wild, and soft, and careful. They gave themselves fully to one another, for the first time, at long last. 

Behind the curtains, they whispered commonplace, miraculous words. 

Please, Geralt, just let me touch you. 

Hm.

Let me kiss you…your lips are so soft. How can that be?

I moisturize. 

Lies! Must be all the rabbit grease. 

Hm. 

Your hair is like silk.Very tangled silk that smells like Roach. 

I like when you brush it. 

Oh! well, I love helping with your toilette, as you well know. 

Love when you touch me. 

I love touching you.Witchers deserve more gentle touches. 

That's why we always go to certain brothels. 

No more need for that, I’ll assure you… unless you have friends you look forward to visiting?

The friend I’ve missed most is right here.

Geralt! you silver-tongued Sylvan!That sort of talk and you’ll never be rid of me. 

Never again, I hope. 

Just talk to me, Geralt. Let it out. 

My life is hard.I don’t want that for you. 

But I want it, for myself. 

I don’t understand that.Here you have friends, fame, wealth… why seek the Path?

Because of you, Geralt.What you do makes a difference. The life you lead is hard, and it’s not fair.But if I can tell some version of your story? That makes people love and respect you the way I do? that’s my life’s work, and it’s work I’m proud of. 

… Thank you. 

What? What was that? Geralt of Rivia, respecting my work?? 

Yes. And also on behalf of the Wolves of Kaer Morhen. 

Wow.Life goals achieved!! Please convey to them my sincere appreciation. 

Tell them yourself, come fall.

You’re inviting me? home for the winter?

… If I winter there, I’d be glad if you’d join me. 

Yes, Geralt.Whenever, wherever you want me, there I’ll be. 

Right now, you’re just where I want you. 

I love the sound of that. … Geralt, are you purring? I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing shall I? 

Don’t ever stop. 

I won’t, dearheart. I won’t. 

In the morning, they opened the curtains, and met a new day. A powerful girl relying on them, a powerful mage helping them, they would all move forward, together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your comments! 
> 
> Thanks especially to Sei-shonanon for her illustrations of the letters! :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [far beneath the winter snows: The Letters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25805101) by [sei_shonanon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sei_shonanon/pseuds/sei_shonanon)




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